062 | samarium

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× Mercury


I woke up to the voice of Joey Tribbiani.

The morning light trickled in through the blinds and pressed against my closed eyelids. Shedding myself of the remaining glimpses of a dream, I soaked in the warm sheets and the soft smell of laundry detergent. I was slightly aware of background sounds from the TV - the cue of laughter and scripted lines from a sitcom - but I was more conscious of the body lying next to me.

I've seen Niall in many lights. I've seen him be aggressive on the soccer field, I've seen him vulnerable when he talked about his childhood, I've seen him pissed when he caught me digging through his things, and I've seen him be protective when he took a punch for me. But seeing him lying there, the sunlight casting through the blinds and making him glow, made me see that this was really him. This was Niall Horan and all his sides.

He was on his stomach, arms wrapped around a pillow as he watched Friends. His golden hair was disarray just like the white sheets and duvet we were tangled in. His lashes fluttered against his cheek and his blue eyes were bright, the morning light exposing just a hint of golden flexes in the irises. My own eyes followed the line of freckles on his cheek down to his neck that had a scatter of blue and purple bruises, evidence that what happened last night wasn't a dream. I wanted to reach out and touch them, to see if there was a ghost of longing from the night before still lingering on the marks, but I held back, afraid that the tranquility that lay in the room would crack. Instead, I continued the trail of freckles down the crook of his neck to his shoulder, and finally down the dip of his back. Red, irritated scratches followed his ribs and spine.

"Hey."

I looked up from the sound of the sleepy voice and saw Niall looking at me, a knowing grin playing on his lips lazily. Caught in the act of checking him out.

"What episode are you watching?" I asked with a yawn.

Niall looked back to the TV. "It's the one where Rachel and Chandler eat cheesecake off the floor."

I bunched the sheets up and over my chest before I sat up, looking around the room. The digital clock on the nightstand read that it was seven in the morning and I wondered when Niall had gotten up. Everything was the same from last night - our clothes in a heap, the stack of magazines scattered on the floor. Seeing it all in daylight was bizarre, like waking up from a dream to find out that everything was real.

"Hey, look at me," Niall said.

Doing as he asked, I looked over at him just as the flash of a Polaroid camera went off, telling me he took a picture. Instantly, the Polaroid popped out and Niall grabbed it, waiting for the light exposure to reveal the image.

Niall looked at the image once it showed itself. "Beautiful."

"Trash it," I whined and attempted to grab the image from his grasp.

He pulled it away and threw it on the pile of clothes on the floor a few feet away. "I'm not throwing it out," he said with a grin. "It's been a good morning, I want to remember it."

I pulled the sheet tighter around me, suddenly feeling self-conscious. I loved taking photographs, of nature, animals, and people, but when it came to people taking picture of me, I didn't feel so confident. I'd much rather stay behind the lens.

"Put the camera away. I don't want any more documentation of my messy hair and smudged makeup."

Niall placed the Polaroid camera back on the nightstand where he had gotten it. He moved so he was on his back and grabbed my hand, pulling lightly. I lay back down beside him and captured the warmth the two of us brought together. He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear and looked at me deep in the eyes. The intensity was suffocating.

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